


Dear Angel

by Toryb



Series: Dear Angel [6]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, Dark!Jughead, F/M, Mentions of Blood, Mentions of Drowning, Sociopath!Jughead, serial killer!jughead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-11
Updated: 2017-11-11
Packaged: 2019-01-31 17:04:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12686406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toryb/pseuds/Toryb
Summary: The last in the Dear Angel Series.





	Dear Angel

**Author's Note:**

> Alright friends allow me a moment of sentimentality. This going to be the first fic I've ever finished. The amount of love/support I have received has really been heart warming. It was a massive risk to put something like this out there. Dear Angel is pretty dark, even for a fandom that's plot is based upon murder. But I've had so many of you stick with me through this and leave notes that really warmed my heart. I feel confident in my writing for the first time in I think my entire life and I am EXCITED to keep working on the other fics I have going as well as finally get this last part out to you. 
> 
> In relation to all other parts of this series, this is likely the most tame in terms of descriptions of violence <3
> 
> Here at last: The final part of Dear Angel

The cabin sat situated between two tall maple trees, shrouded like the portal of an alternate reality in the grey sky overcast and the thick shadows of the forest. All was quiet. Even the birds didn’t dare break the dreary atmosphere. Jughead’s car sat parked in the drive way, smoke from the exhaust floating into the air. He’d been sitting outside for nearly an hour, too terrified to step foot outside his vehicle.

Nothing seemed changed. The welcome mat on the porch, the jack o’ lantern she had insisted upon was still out front: not a single thing was out of place. His gift, the box, was absent however. Betty had gotten it and what was to come would be the moment of truth.

Truth. It was a word that carried a lot of weight. The world was filled with liars. His mother lied when she said she would be back from the store soon. She was gone for three years. His father lied when he said he’d stopped drinking. He’d killed himself with an overdose. The police had lied when they said they would catch Jellybean’s murderer. He’d had to do that himself. But Betty, she had never lied to him. Even at her most vulnerable her heart was stitched firmly onto her sleeve. So, she deserved honestly in return.

Alice Cooper hadn’t screamed much, but that was likely due to his swift removal of her tongue. It had taken her four minutes to drown in her blood. He wasn’t really surprised by that; she seemed the tenacious sort.

Jughead shifted his M.O for the murder. No staging, no note, nothing that could link the disappearance and death of the Cooper women to the infamous Ghost Killings. This needed to be a separate case of its own. He had already made his statement at the station early. He portrayed the grieving boyfriend well all things considered. Maybe his middle school humanities teacher had been onto something when she has suggested he take part in their subpar rendition of Hamlet. It seemed morbidly fitting now though.

When he’d returned home today, the absence of a police cruiser in his yard had been a surprise, one that was laced with hope. If Betty had chosen to run, the chances of her calling the police and identifying his whereabouts were high.

He fought hard to keep all his fairytale like fantasies tucked deep inside his heart. His Rapunzel, hidden inside this cottage for her own safety, would throw herself into his arms upon his return, peppering his face with kisses so plentiful he would lose count. There would be dinner on the stove. Domesticity, love: everything he had craved in his youth coming true.

But maybe he was the wicked witch: luring innocent Angels into his house made of candy in the woods only to devour their souls to keep up his youthful appearance. There were no boiling cauldrons or licorice wardrobes, but he felt deep in his heart he had poisoned Betty like a snake.

Jughead was just as selfish as the wicked men and women he’d so meticulously hunted. Deep down, he knew there was no justification for the way he lived. Murder with a cause was still simply that. He had spent the last few days in an old hotel room, letting his mind wander through the chaos he had caused. When he felt the weight of Alice’s heart in his hands something had snapped. There wasn’t a single person left to protect Betty from but himself.

The present, the letter: it was all a desperate attempt to push her far, far away from the darkness that consumed him. There was no stopping the demons that haunted his sleep. When the killing called he was a slave to the siren’s song. One by one he would purify the jaded earth. She should not be forced into that madness. A poor lost Alice, pulled deep into a demented Wonderland by a rabid white rabbit.

When no more thoughts were left in his head, Jughead finally exited his truck. Even the wind was eerie: a cold breeze that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand at full attention. Each step forward felt like dragging his hand through hardening cement. The weight of fear felt crushing. He wanted her to be there, but he also wanted her to be gone, far, far away from the insanity.

A hummingbird flittered around the pink sugar water feeder. Betty had insisted upon it’s installation. Like a picture-perfect Disney Princess, the birds were her friends and flowers sprang up under the grass whenever she walked. Jughead stood, fascinated by the quick flap of its wings. He wondered if that’s what his heart would look like if someone peeled back his skin and bone.

Finally, Jughead managed to stop the shaking of his hands and slip the key into his lock. It clicked. The old wooden door opened.

He didn’t speak as he walked through the front room, eyes darting among the books of their ever-growing library. A few looked recently loved and his heart soared. Maybe she was here. Maybe she had stayed. With new found hope, he continued forward. The feeling did not last.

The living room was empty; the TV was cold. There was no sign of movement, or of the familiar blonde hair that felt so soft under his touch. No dinner was on the stove. No food in the oven. The lights weren’t even turned on. His heart sank. Empty. Alone. Exactly how he had wanted to be. The bittersweet feeling hit him like a tsunami. He felt like he was drowning.

No more warmth in his bed as he held her in his arms. No more smiles that made his heart sing. No more kisses and promises of eternity. Just a forever that felt like an all swallowing void.

Walking to the couch was more of a stumble. He laid on the blanket, still saturated in the floral scent that always seemed to cling to Betty. They’d slept under it together so many nights while a movie flickered in the background. His home, like his heart, would remain touched by her presence forever. Never could he forget his angel.

The stairwell creaked. Descending them, bathed in the light of a single flickering candle was Betty Cooper. Her silk nightgown hung from her demure frame, hair swept back from her face. When she spotted him, tears he hadn’t even known were falling streaking across his cheeks, she paused.

“The lights…they went out this morning. I wanted to wait for you, so you could help me fix them.”

Whatever words she said fell upon deaf ears. All that mattered were the lips she’d used to form them. Warm, soft, familiar. He devoured every inch of her skin that night. Tangled up in their sheets, he placed a gentle kiss to her skin of her shoulder.

“I would never leave you,” she promised him, brushing the dark curls from his face. “No matter what you do: we’ll always be together.”

His fingers found the mark on her skin; the crown carved into alabaster flesh. Her words made him smile. “My dear Angel. I love you.”

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on tumblr @tory-b (Come say hi! I love making new friends and chatting!)


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